


Heavy (destiel au)

by sassyasscas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DemonDean, HunterCas, King of Hell, M/M, collaborative fanfic, destiel au, possible wing kink, wigfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyasscas/pseuds/sassyasscas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work of fanfiction written by myself and my dear friend Emily. It is written from a third person pov, differing between Castiel(written by me) and Dean(written by Emily). We do hope you will enjoy and provide us with some lovely feedback!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Heavy (destiel au)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fanfiction written by myself and my dear friend Emily. It is written from a third person pov, differing between Castiel(written by me) and Dean(written by Emily). We do hope you will enjoy and provide us with some lovely feedback!

~cas~

Luminous, slightly pearlescent in sheen, entirely obsidian. In the dark shadows that loomed over the hillside, Castiel had a full range of motion, his wings spread eagerly as they caressed the brisk evening air. He could feel each slight tremble in the wind that was present, and it only urged Castiel on. He was hot on the heels of a demon called Pyro and Castiel had gone into a trance-like state, rushing through a thick, grassy field that was becoming increasingly close to the town. The objective was to take Pyro out with a quiet efficiency, with no loud guns and no civilians caught in the crossfire.In the vessel of a young man with lanky, but very short legs, he was no match for Castiel, who now permanently resided in the body of Jimmy Novak, who was not incredibly fit, but did house an extreme amount of strength and endurance when paired with the weakened powers of an Angel of Thursday. He moved gracefully (though he was mostly without an actual grace, technically) and with a quick calculation of where his blade might hit the swiftly moving demon before him, he took a chance, swung his arm back and forwards again. He aimed to plunge through the demon's chest, but missed by a landslide. Grabbing at the gun tucked away in a holster at Castiel's thigh, he unloaded a few rounds into it's back, watching as the blood pooled in three areas, two for each shoulder and one above where the ribs would be. Almost with a sense of remorse for the job, Castiel approached the demon boy and rested a hand on his shoulder, laying him gently in the undergrowth.

" You are the first to have no regard for my vessel, Castiel. How strange. " The demon finally spoke, his voice was so young, the voice of a mere child. He was right, nonetheless. Castiel did not flinch at the idea of shooting at a human.

" There have been many before you, Pyro. And I suspect you will not be the last. I will continue to smite abominations like yourself until-" He was cut off, by a blood-smeared smile and a sputtering hack. It almost sounded like a scoff to Castiel.

" Until what? Until you find your precious righteous man? He is gone, Castiel. And soon shall you be. "

Castiel watched the demon's eyes flicker from black, to a sweet, sweet green and finally a glassy pale; an obvious glimpse of the final dying moments of the vessel. Though his eyes held a certain sadness that would cause something in Castiel's stomach to flutter. It reminded him so much of Dean. Hopelessly lost, and incredibly broken. On the drive back to the tiny lot where he could park the impala overnight Castiel tried to remember Dean in all of his glory, donning about nine plaid shirts, a pair of work boots and jeans, and a full-lipped smile that would brighten the day of anyone, angel or human; hell, it probably could have made a demon blush. From the uncountable amount of subtle freckles dotting just his face and neck, to the viridescent colour of his eyes, and deep inside, to the sheer power and brilliant brightness of soul. So pure and so gentle cradled in Castiel's arms. The righteous man. Dean Winchester. Brother of Sam. Son of John and Mary. Friend of Castiel. He fought so hard to keep that image of Dean burning bright in his mind, he was doing this for Dean, after all. It kept him positive and motivated. But sometimes, in the lonely darkness of the Impala, he lay curled in a plaid wool blanket he found stuffed in the trunk. He had misplaced his trench, much to his dismay, and now kept a collection of sweatshirts, some stolen from Dean's closet at the bunker, a few given by Sam, and some taken from donation bins. He could only try not to remember his last, breathless moments with Dean Winchester. The defeated scream as Castiel came to the realization that this was it. A soft pink glow radiated from the strange mark on Deans inner forearm. A flicker of black in his eyes as any wisp of what had been the elder Winchester dissipated.

In my mind, nothing made much sense. The note Dean had left for Sam, the strange calmness in Sam's voice during our last conversation. The demons who always seemed smug, dying with knowing smiles on their lips. Everything I had done up until this point, was for Dean Winchester. But I had never thought that it was for anything other than revenge, and something I had once heard Sam mention..."closure". It was not until that final demon, Pyro, with his shiny green, dead eyes, that I realized what had been before me this entire time. Dean Winchester was dead, yes. But in the same sense, he was very much alive. The demon's words hinted not at Dean's death, but at something much more catastrophic.

~dean~

The throne room was dark and musty, it seemed like an old cluttered attic, cobwebs clung to almost every surface. Cold, grey cement walls enforced the feeling of dread that hung over the room like a wet blanket. Dust clouded the room, burning Dean's nose and throat with every breath. Dean reclined in the golden throne, the top of the seat covered in sharp spires that reached high above Dean's head. His shiny black dress shoes propped up on a pile of thick books, a small smirk played on his lips as a tall demon with sunken eyes and pale skin that seemed to hang off his bones passed him a sheet of yellowing paper. He narrowed his eyes down at a demon that was pushed down to his knees in front of the throne. The demon was smirking casually, daring to look the king in the eyes. Dean tossed aside the paper, sitting up in his chair. His voice low and grating he spoke,

" So, a Crowley loyalist." The demon grimaced and fought against the silver handcuffs that restrained his wrists.

" You're no king." he whispered, the multitude of other demons in the room erupting into surprised mumbles and wide eyes. To the shock of everyone in the room, Dean laughed, a long deep chuckle. The laugh of a madman. He pushed himself up, his muscles bunching against his grey button down shirt. He strolled forward, circling the demon like a shark circling its prey in the water. Dean's eyes flickered up and down the demon, as if assessing its ability to fight back. The demons face began to become pale and clammy, beads of sweat slipping down his forehead into his eyes that nervously flicked between dean's tall lean figure and the floor.

Suddenly dean's hand flashed out, wrapping around the demons arm dragging him to his feet. Dean's face just inches from the demon's, the demon began to cower, from both pain and fear.

" You think you're important? You're like a dog. " Deans grip tightened, stronger and stronger until there was a sickening snap.

" A sick dog. "The demon cried out, Dean leaned closer, his eyes unintentionally flicking black, his teeth bared "and sick dogs need to be put down" he snarled as he grabbed a wicked looking blade from the waistband of his pants, and driving it up into the ribcage of the demon, the force lifting the demon a few feet off the ground. Hot blood leaked from the wound, coating Dean's arm, all the way to his forearm, covering a strange marking on his skin. He pushed the demon down, placing a perfectly polished shoe on the demon's stomach before pulling the blade out with a sound that would've made any human,- or demon for that matter, squeamish.

" Anyone else have something to say? " he yelled, something evil underlying his voice, practically shaking the walls. The way Dean looked in that moment, he could've shaken fear into the devil himself. His eyes were black, blood dripping from his fingers and the wicked blade in his hand. Though, he wasn't always this way. Dean glanced around the room, his eyes wild. He crouched, wiping the demons own blood off the blade onto the demons coat. He tucked the blade back into the waistband of his pants, stalking away from the scent of blood, like raw iron and earth. He pulled open the thick rusty metal door, slamming it shut in his wake.

He ran a hand through his hair, treading carefully across the cold cement floor. The hallways in the- well, his kingdom seemed ancient. False stained glass windows adorned the walls, letting in no real sunlight. The colorful glass ridiculously out of place in this hell. As he walked, he absentmindedly rubbed the marking on his forearm that closely resembled an 'f '. Soon enough, voices began to cut through the unnatural silence, Dean followed the sound, eventually finding two female demons huddled in a corner. He ducked into and small alcove between the wall and a large pillar. His ears strained to hear the demons' conversation, he swiftly turned his head around the corner, catching a glimpse around the corner. The two demons seemed fairly young- well the poor saps they were possessing. They both had blonde hair, one had hair that was cropped close to her head, the other had long hair that reached down her back, both seemed amused with the topic of conversation, giggling at something the other had said.

" I've heard he sold his soul for his brother..." one demon whispered, her blue eyes brightening with the piece of gossip.

" I heard that Lilith sicked one of her mutts on him, tore him to ribbons! " they both giggled, quite an unsettling reaction.

" He only lasted a couple months down here, lucky for him he had his pretty boy angel boyfriend save him." the shorter demon continued, the other snickering. Dean felt his throat constrict as they said 'him', this was Dean's story, and he couldn't relive it. He left his hiding place, his footsteps echoing around the hall, the demons jump and spun, but Dean was long down the hallway.

Dean's breath seemed to catch in his throat, he hurried away, twisting and turning down the maze of hallways until he couldn't walk any further. He leaned against the wall, his thoughts being pulled to a pair of blue eyes.

It was inexplicably hard to describe Cas' eyes. I had tried many times before, but words couldn't do them justice. They were blue like the sea, crashing and churning, you could practically hear the waves lapping at the shore, see the foam flying into the air, feel the spray on your skin. Though, the last bit of time we'd spent together, the sea in his eyes was stormy. Worry and sadness were always evident, that seemed to be a constant thing, which i never understood. In some way, Cas was lost to me, though maybe i was just as lost to him.


End file.
